Sanctuary
by Pearl of the Dark Age
Summary: Lighthouse to the tempest tossed. A one shot of Varon's beginnings.


June 27, 2007

**Sanctuary**

By _Pearl of the Dark Age_

Rip. Tear. Rumble, rumble, rumble… She thought that God must have started bowling again. For that was how she thought of thunderstorms. There was also that smell that lingered in the air: something chemical with the hint of wild flowers. It was dark, wet, and noisy. Another flash of lightning, and all the streetlights went out. She blinked in the sudden darkness, soaked in the mildly warm summer rain.

She ordinarily would have been cold, but the nine-month-old fetus inside her radiated his warmth just like a personal hot water bottle. A kicking, _squirming_ hot water bottle that had taken up all the available space within and was now growing impatient. He elbowed her painfully, restless.

Her water had broken, contractions had started, and they were getting closer together. She knew the time was near. If only she could get to safety. She was desperate. More desperate than when she had left that violent man whom she feared. He was a long ways away now. She had traveled by boat all the way down the Atlantic from Spain into the Indian Ocean to the shores of Australia. Where exactly she was on this continental country down under eluded her. She could not speak English, either.

A light shone in the darkness, and hope burgeoned inside her chest. At last! A church! The candlelight acted like a beacon from God. It was a lighthouse to the tempest tossed. There was a moment of pure joy, quickly followed by a moment of pure pain. She crumbled over, clutching her round belly as another contraction wrecked havoc on her senses. The pain ebbed away enough a moment later so that she could start walking again.

Single-mindedly determined, numb with purpose, she made her way to the large, welcoming church doors. She could hear music inside, inspiring her. It was beautiful, just like the churches in Spain. She hoped that this church was Catholic, but she would settle right now for any God-fearing Christian church. The baby was on his way, and she couldn't wait another minute!

She banged on the doors. "¡Santuario!!¡Santuario!!¡Santuario!" she cried over and over again. "¡Por favor denme el santuario!" Her desperate exclamations had halted the singing. There was only the rumbling thunder. Another fork of lightning illuminated the sky, blinding her to the opening doors. She blinked, and before her stood a nun. Young, shocked, and filled with compassion in her eyes.

The pregnant woman understood that language. "Ayudenme por favor. ¡Estoy embarazada!!¡Mi bebé quiere nacer ya!" The nun nodded and beckoned her inside. She reached out to help support her by the arm as they walked into the entrance room and into a comfortable side room. There was a worn couch, shelves of books, and a desk in that room. The woman glanced around at her surroundings, feeling as if she had stepped into an office.

The nun smiled at her kindly and gestured for her to lie down upon the couch. She complied, and the young nun prepped her with some pillows. The lady fought off another wave of nausea as pain rolled over her once more. It was excruciating! The nun held her hand, trying to give her some comfort. She smiled once more and pointed to herself. "Mary," she said, pointing at her chest. "My name is Sister Mary."

"¿Maria?" she gasped. She closed her eyes and smiled as Grace descended upon her. "¡Gracias a Dios!"

The nun nodded again in reply, even though she did not understand Spanish. The overwhelming relief in the young lady's voice was enough. She quickly prayed to God for His helping hand in the situation. Her heart twanged with mixed pain at the woman's suffering and equal joy at the expected infant to be born. "I'm going to get some water and cloth for you," she said to the pregnant lady. "I'll be right back."

Her cerulean blue eyes widened in reply. The nun encouraged her with another smile and left. She rushed around the recesses of the church, foraging for whatever she thought might help her in this hour of need. She was glad that she had the foresight to light candles in the office. She knew summer thunderstorms like these often caused blackouts in Melbourne. She thought of the hospital, and she knew in her heart that the infant would not make it if they ventured out into the storm to go there. "Oh, if only the phones were working!"

The nun returned six minutes later with plenty of hot water, ice, towels, and blankets. She wrapped up the ice in a washcloth and gave it to the lady to suck on. She said another prayer of thanks to God for her midwife training. She drew a deep breath and dipped the other towel in the hot water, prepared for the long, painful hours ahead…

* * *

The infant boy screamed and cried out his lungs. How dare they take him from the sanctuary of his mother's womb? What is this harsh environment? His sense of comfort and security returned a moment later as he was dried from his bath and wrapped lovingly in warm, soft blankets. He curved his back, curling his body, trying to shape himself as he had been inside his sanctuary. His baby blue eyes blinked in the soft candlelight at his mother's face. He could hear her heartbeat. Oh, the familiar sound! Life was normal again, and he closed his eyes in peace. 

The mother was ecstatic beyond all expectations! She cried tears of happiness. Her son had arrived! She was safe! He was safe! She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God for her newfound sanctuary. She knew that she would never again see Spain. She hoped that all her dreams for her son would come true. He would live in a world without suffering.

Something was wrong. Her heartbeat was erratic, and the baby sensed it, too. He started crying mournfully. He detested the wrongness! The nun's eyes grew wide with fear, and she quickly checked to see if the phone line was working again. She cried about not having a car. Panic was beginning to seep into her heart, and she sank to her knees in prayer, clinging to her rosary.

The lady was growing cold suddenly. The light was fading in the room. She could see the little flickering flames of the candles shrinking, shrinking into darkness. She looked at the praying nun at her side, her baby son in her arms, and knew he would be the last thing that she saw.

"Varón," she whispered in a weak voice. The nun glanced up from her prayers and locked eyes with her. The mother summoned up her last remaining strength. "Su nombre es Varón. Varón..."

There was a rushing sound, like wind howling through a narrow cave, and she knew no more. Baby Varon cried louder still, calling for the only world he understood to right itself.


End file.
